


Butter Fingers

by heyystiles



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Ben is a big ol klutz, But he's a cute klutz, Couch Cuddles, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, F/M, Gen, M/M, Movie Night, Stanley Uris Lives, because screw canon am i right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27220942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyystiles/pseuds/heyystiles
Summary: Apparently Ben doesn't know how to control his limbs sometimes, but the Losers don't mind. In fact, it's kind of adorable, in an obnoxious kind of way.— Adult movie night at Ben's house + Fluff like nobody's business - featuring some soft Ben/Bev
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Ben Hanscom/Eddie Kaspbrak/Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, everybody loves everybody ok ??
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	Butter Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to user @sluttyeddie on twitter for the late night inspiration, hopefully this is coherent as I'm currently two doses deep on cold meds! anyway, enjoy!

It’s their first get-together as a group since, _well — since it happened._ The thing nobody likes to talk about anymore.

The air is thick with excitement, a dash of buzzing nerves, and the overwhelmingly present scent of artificial butter flavoring.

Stan had suggested a movie night - _you know, like old times? -_ but it was Ben that had volunteered his house.

_His massive, glass, herculean feat of architecture._

Ever since Beverly had moved in with him, Ben was finally keen to just how large the structure felt, just how _lonely_ he’d been all these years - nothing but several thousand square feet of emptiness and his own thoughts.

But the presence of five more, however brief it might be, was doing _wonders_ for Ben’s overall disposition.

“The _Blob?_ **_Really?_** ” there’s an air of unease to Eddie’s tone as it cuts through the fog of Ben’s reverie.

The house has a mostly open floor plan, and Ben can hear Eddie _clear_ as day from his place in the kitchen, even _with_ the microwave humming in action beside him as it warms another bag of salted kernels.

It’s Bev that finally replies, leaning against the kitchen door frame in her matching pajama set, fiery hair tucked into a loose knot at the top of her head, “Don’t blame us, Eds. It was Richie’s idea.”

The rest of the Losers are sardined beside each other on Ben’s fourteen-foot sectional couch, with Richie and Mike bookending the group, despite the fact that there’s _plenty_ of room for all seven to sit comfortably spaced out.

Eddie pipes up from beneath Richie’s bicep, both limbs curled around a giant rectangular pillow as the other man appears to faux _smother_ his boyfriend, “Yeah, well— _hrmph - Richie’s got - shitty taste!_ ”

_“Hey! Easy!_ You’re gonna squish him like a grape, you idiot!” Stan leans over top of Richie to remove the pillow and free the smaller man, but Richie fights it and soon even Mike and Bill have joined in, nobody’s strength able to rival Richie’s stubbornness and sheer force of will.

Bev rolls her eyes at the sight, unable to suppress the giddy grin sneaking its way across her lips.

_“Say you’re excited about the movie, asshole! Say I have good taste!”_ Richie relents slightly, peeling the pillow away from Eddie’s scowling face.

“Alright - alright, _uncle! You have good taste, ya jerk!”_

Ben, during the chaos, is still busying himself with snack prep, several bowls of bright yellow popcorn lined up on the granite countertop, along with a smattering of sweets, and a healthy helping of bottles of alcoholic beverages.

He’s in the middle of counting the snacks, making sure everyone’s allotted an equal share of junk food, when Bev snakes her arms around his midsection, resting her forehead against his shoulder blades with a relaxed sigh.

“It’s perfect, Ben. Everyone’s got _plenty_ of food. Come on back to the living room,” her voice is soft, inviting, and Ben can’t help the content sigh that slips past his own lips at the feeling of Bev’s body resting against his own.

“Okay,” he nods, noticing in the sudden silence that the playful energy emanating from the other room has now shifted to light bickering.

Raising an eyebrow in confusion, Ben glances to his left, Bev’s eyes looking particularly warm in the gentle glow of the under-cabinet lighting.

“They’re trying to figure out how to work your DVD player,” she explains, letting out a snort of amusement at the sound of an outburst from a random voice in the group, likely belonging to Eddie.

“Ah,” Ben understands, rolling his eyes and letting out a gentle chuckle, “— do you think this means we should feed ‘em? Sugar might not be the best thing for that group.”

Ben’s tone is light, but firm and Bev isn’t entirely sure if he’s joking or not, but she plays along regardless, tucking a beer under each arm before grabbing a popcorn-filled bowl in each hand before heading out of the kitchen, “C’mon, _let’s go feed the kids._ ”

Ben follows suit and grabs the remaining popcorn bowls, his experience as a waiter in college suddenly flooding back as he expertly stacks five bowls in both outstretched arms.

“It’s _input three,_ idiot — ” Eddie yells at Richie from behind Ben’s _expectedly_ large flat-screen television. There are cables in both hands that definitely should _not_ have been unplugged, but he can’t seem to remember where they’re from and if it was even _him_ that unplugged them in the first place.

Richie, meanwhile, is squinting at the remote, unable to decipher which button is which as he moves his glasses back and forth between his eyes and the object in focus, “ _Jesus_ , Ben why is the print on your remote so small?”

“Uhh,” Ben stops in his tracks but doesn’t answer, intent on assisting the confused duo _after_ distributing the popcorn and beers. Luckily for Ben though, Mike plucks the remote from Richie’s idle hands, immediately locating the right button and setting things straight with an annoyed but loving “ _You two_ , I swear...”

“Al _-right,_ Mikey!” Bill lets out a quiet whoop in triumph as the TV screen changes, the DVD menu suddenly coming into view.

“Did it work?” Eddie pops up from behind the TV, one cable still in hand, before noticing Ben’s presence with a sheepish grin, “Oh uh - _Ben_ — I don’t know what this goes to. _But_ it seems to be working, so it can’t be anything _that_ important.”

“It’s alright Eddie, I’ll fix it la—” He tries to respond, but his foot is caught - on _what?_ who the hell knows - and his sentence dies in his throat, things suddenly shifting into _ultra_ slow-motion _._

Ben **_(_ ** apparently still not used to the longer, more gangly limbs of adulthood **_)_ ** fucking _faceplants_ onto his own hardwood livingroom floor _—_ bright yellow popcorn showering down onto the rest of the Losers, save for Eddie, who’s shielded from the accident by a 4K screen.

He’s able to catch himself _thank god,_ or else he’d have surely broken his nose. But all of this happens at the expense of the popcorn, and Ben lands painfully _roughly_ and _forearm first_ onto the cold, wooden surface - yeah that’s _definitely_ going to be bruised tomorrow.

Immediately following the chaos, however, the group goes silent, and Ben’s afraid to look up.

  
“ _What the hell just happened?_ ” Eddie asks from behind the television still, before looking out at the others on the couch, genuine, pure laughter immediately bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, “Oh - _my god._ ”

Laughter has got to be a good sign, _right?_

So Ben does it, he rips the bandaid off - and looks up - immediately speechless, “I — ”

Not soon after Eddie starts laughing, Bev joins in, having received the least of the well, _debris_ in Ben’s fall.

There’s popcorn in Richie’s hair, and a few kernels even made their way behind the lenses of his glasses, caught between the smudged glass and his quickly reddening cheeks. Mike is just as covered, popcorn is nestled in the folds of his pants, and a few more pieces have snuck their way into the breast pocket of his flannel shirt. Bill is glaring at Bev, his expression reading more like _‘don’t laugh at me, jerk’_ than a _‘this isn’t funny, asshole’._ Stan, on the other hand, has already plucked a piece from Mike’s shirt pocket and popped it into his mouth.

Six pairs of eyes glare in his direction, expressions full of confusion, and amused judgment.

“What? - At least I know he _showers_ ,” Stan shrugs before the entire group explodes into laughter.

Bev moves to help Ben up from the ground, and both of their bodies are shaking from laughing. Eyeing his likely bruised arms with concern, dark red brows furrow in worry as the duo stands up together, a silent _‘you okay?’_ hanging in the air amongst the pure levity of the situation.

He smiles back, offering up a short but sweet nod that hopefully says _‘I’m all good’_ as he moves to finally join her on the now _popcorn-covered_ couch.

Richie hasn’t said a word yet, but Eddie squeezes back between him and Bill a moment later, retrieving a piece of the popcorn debris from Richie’s shoulder, and popping into his mouth.

“I mean, it’s still edible,” he notes, nodding at Stan in agreement as Ben retrieves the remote from the coffee table and starts the movie.

The opening credits roll onto the screen as the group’s laughter dies down. There’s another remote on the coffee table that Ben palms, using it to adjust the lights in the room to a more acceptable _movie-viewing_ level.

There’s a comfortable lull of silence filled with the soft chewing of popcorn, and the fizz of a few opened bottles, when Richie speaks up, breaking the bubble of quiet with something _everyone_ was likely thinking.

“You know, _you’re lucky you’re cute_ , Hanscom.”


End file.
